no crispy noodle, not chinese food

since pastrami to me is different from pastrami to hwubby it stirs me to recall something fascinating and funny. the first time we took my father-in-law, may he rest in peace, to chinese food, he kindly says, suk wah, we love chinese food, you order. so i do. when food begin to arrive my father-in-law says, where's crispy noodle? keep in mind i take the jewish family to a chinese restaurant where no fortune cookies are served unless you specifically ask for it and when hwubby does, the first time we were there, i swear - and hwubby assures me i am just paranoid - i see the owner/maitre'd, mrs chow, roll her eyes ever so subtly as she turns towards me and say, in cantonese, we don't have crispy noodle here. anyway after a little bit of explaining, mrs chow, the owner, totally gets it. it is the daughter-in-law's sacred duty to please the father-in-law. so in no time a big plate of fresh, crispy noodle miraculously appear in front of my father-in-law. he beams and says to mrs chow, i want mongolian beef. i pray quietly, please do not order lobster in black bean sauce, or else mrs chow will tease me the rest of my life. i recall hwubby tell me several times that this is one of their top fave when they go for chinese food. my prayer is answered. and, listen to this, i don't have to ask for fortune cookies. without them i don't think my american family think they have had chinese food.



o yes, here's another good one. over a passover meal a distinguished jew shares this, we travel in china, they bring us food, we look at them and we say, this is not chinese food. well, i'm so glad there is my pastrami moment and here are crispy noodle, fortune cookie, mongolian beef and lobster in black bean sauce times. all are fantastic. i realize they show beautifully that beyond these flavorful and yummy diversity we share fundamental commonalities. we love having great food with family and friends. aren't we one or what?!

it's not new york pastrami.

i come across in new york times that there's this place in portland, oregon that home smokes and hand makes pastrami. i know all pastramis in new york delis are commercially produced. and i know hwubby loves, loves, loves pastrami. pastrami on rye. reuben. you name it. he loves it. whenever he's in new york he has to have it. so i bring this to his attention. and there we are tasting this. to me, it is fantastic. not greasy. not salted to the tilt. nice texture but doesn't stick between teeth. i look to hwubby and say, with great anticipation, this is great, isn't it? a pause ensues. my heart and stomach sink. hesitantly he says, it's....good, it's not new york pastrami. indeed this is not the pastrami as he knows it. this is not the pastrami that is a part of his childhood. this is not the pastrami in his world. whereas i don't carry all this emotional memory of pastrami.

pastrami through the eye of inner self

what can i say about my meditation experience today? a little deeper into my own inner self. a little higher into my own inner self. what do i mean by that? not that i don't have thoughts. i have them. i see them. some are negative. some are positive. but what's fascinating today is i realize i don't care about their contents. i don't have the impulse to go after them and ask questions like, why do i have this thought? why does it come up now? in fact i see how random they are. and fleeting too. they really are fast as lightning bolts. now i see them for what they are i am just aware of their coming and going from afar, anchored in the vast shelter of my own inner self. there's this real sense that i am rooted in this strong, clear, bright and open inner quiet. i feel safe. now that i am getting more used to being in this state i can't imagine i would want to go back to where i was. but here's the funny thing. back when i was in that state of getting swept up and tossed around in the torrents of thoughts, feelings and emotions i thought that was the only way to be. last night hwubby and i went to this deli in portland, oregon to try their hand-made, home-smoked, hand-sliced pastrami. i say, good pastrami. hwubby doesn't like it so much. he says, it's not new york pastrami. i contemplate on this. i realize in hwubby's mind, he sees pastrami through the thoughts, feelings and emotions of a new yorker, a brooklyn boy. if i may say so he doesn't see this home-made pastrami through the eye of his own inner self:)